Shittin’

“I hate these shittin’ things,” Papa Rufus grumbled as he banged the heel of his hand into the screen of his iPhone. “Don’t know how the shit to work ‘em.”

I smirked but didn’t say anything. I just kept my eyes on my book. It was hard to read in the flickering light of the campfire, but it was such a nice night that I refused to go inside.

I was outside with my papa Rufus (who was my great-grandfather), my papa Joey (my grandfather, Rufus’ son), and my father (not the son of Joey). My dad’s friend Tim was inside already asleep, making sure he’d be ready to hunt the next morning. His snores were so loud we’d be able to hear them from here if not for the crackle-and-pop of the flames. My uncle and his children would be arriving tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully I’d already be done and gone before I had to interact with any of them.

“Give it here, dad,” Joey said to Rufus. Rufus passed off the smartphone and Joey passed it to me, tossing it on the pages of my book. “Can you turn the ringer off, please?”

I flicked the little switch on the side and passed it back without ever looking up.

“I shoulda kept that flip phone I had from before,” Rufus grumbled, stuffing the device into the pocket of his old, worn-out Wranglers.

Dad yawned and agreed with Rufus. “These new phones come with so many bells and whistles that you can’t figure out how to do anything anymore.”

“Shittin’ right,” Rufus said.

I stood and announced I was going to head off to bed. I suggested the others do the same and both Joey and Rufus nodded and followed suit. Dad shook his head and popped the top of another Coors Light. “I think I’ll stay up for a bit longer,” he said as he brought the silver bullet to his lips. “I’ll come in a bit.”

I nodded, knowing trying to convince him to quit early was useless.

The alarm rang at 4:30 in the morning, about three hours after I’d fallen asleep. Dad didn’t even stir when I shut the sound off and climbed out of bed. I saw a note tucked under my phone and recognized my dad’s familiar handwriting:

“Sick. Not gonna be able to hunt in the morning. You can go out with Rufus and Joey though. Good luck.”

I told him he should’ve quit early. I considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but I knew if I didn’t shoot anything this morning, I’d have to spend another night and entertain my cousins Jaxon and Ryder, my uncles’ devil children. I’d give up a few more hours of sleep for that.

I could hear both Joey and Rufus moving around the house and I crawled out of bed to the bathroom to get ready. I brushed my teeth and threw on a thermal camo shirt and some old jeans over my long johns. I tugged on my Muck boots that were getting a little too snug and marched into the living room of the camphouse, meeting Joey who was sitting in the recliner.

“Didn’t think you’d be tagging along,” he said. “I know you like your sleep.”

“Not as much as I like hunting,” I lied. I enjoyed hunting, but it alone wouldn’t motivate me to get up before the crack of dawn more than just this once a year.

“We better get the move on before the sun rises,” Joey said as Rufus came from the room they shared.

“Those shittin’ deer ain’t gonna wait for us to get to our stands,” Rufus said, throwing open the screen door and marching down the front steps. I grabbed my rifle from the gun cabinet and followed Joey out. I hopped in the backseat of the truck and off we were, Joey taking us to where he knew there’d be deer. I was never sure how he knew, but he hadn’t been wrong in my memory. Every place he dropped me off always yielded the antlered animals.

We pulled out of the pasture and pulled onto a county road that ran adjacent. We rolled down the gravel road, our headlights on bright so we could see if there were any deer crossing the dark road or grazing in the pastures the road winded between.

When we approached the gate to the pasture we were hunting in, Joey shut off the headlights and I hopped out to unlock the gate. I swung the thing open on its rusted hinges to let the Toyota Tundra pull in. I closed the gate behind it and just wrapped the chain around the post, not bothering to lock it. We’d be leaving in about two or three hours anyways.

Joey pulled up to a small deer stand perched atop four posts that put it about four feet off the ground. “Here you are,” he announced.

“Rufus or I?” I asked.

“Both of ya,” he said. “I’m headed to another pasture and hunting from the truck,” which I knew was code for taking a nap. “That alright?”

I knew hunting while Joey slept in his truck would be fruitless. I’d never hunted with Rufus, but he was dubious for having terrible luck when it came to spotting deer. Even so, I nodded and hopped out with Rufus.

He climbed the short ladder with a little trouble. The man was in his 80s. I wasn’t sure what age exactly — he probably didn’t even know — but he was definitely too old to be trying to get into this stand. When he finally squeezed himself through the small door at the top of the ladder, I hurried in after him. He was just settling into his small stool when I climbed in after him. I took the other small stool.

The space wasn’t really big enough for two people, but I kept putting off taking my hunters safety exam which was keeping me from hunting alone.

He leaned his rifle in a corner of the small stand and I did the same in my corner. “This shittin’ stand is too small,” he muttered, adjusting his position.

“Shittin’” was his favorite word. It wasn’t really used by my generation so I only ever heard him say it. When I was little, I thought it was horrendous how often he said it. Now I found it so funny that I looked forward to hearing it whenever I saw him. He used it as a word that can mean anything. An adjective that can mean good, bad, hot, cold, pretty, ugly, anything. All these things wrapped up in one word: shittin’.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I probably need to do that exam soon.”

“Stupid anyway,” he said. “I never had to take any exam when I was your age. I’ve been hunting alone since I was seven.”

I didn’t know if he was being hyperbolic or serious. Laws were probably much looser when he was my age almost seventy years ago.

We sat in silence for a while before the sun finally broke above the trees. The sky had been growing more gray over the last thirty minutes, but now the sky was varying shades of red, pink, and orange where the sun was struggling to break the horizon. Birds chirped and trees rustled in the breeze. It was a little cold and I was thankful for my fleece-lined shirt. I should’ve brought my jacket, but I’d survive.

“There,” he said, breaking the silence and pointing at the tree line more than 200 yards away. I squinted but couldn’t see anything.

“Where?” I asked.

“Use your scope,” he said.

I lifted the gun and rested it on the bottom of the opening we looked through. I lowered my eye to the scope and scanned the tree line. It took a moment, but I finally found what he saw. Three doe were coming out of the shadows. They were making a slow trek into the open field and munching on grass. I knew as well as Rufus that where two or more doe were gathered, a buck wouldn’t be far behind. I lowered my rifle and leaned it back into its corner.

We watched as the doe worked their way closer to use, oblivious of the two hunters hunched in the invisible stand. I watched as the beautiful creatures got within a hundred yards. If a buck came near where they were now, it’d be an easy shot.

And there he was: the buck following the doe. And he was glorious. He looked exactly like Bambi’s father: a big-bodied, twelve-point buck. He sniffed around the ground and approached the doe in the field. They paid him no mind, allowing him to be in their presence. Usually the doe got spooked when a buck approached, but these acted as if he wasn’t even there, as if he was as invisible as Rufus and I.

He was so close. I lifted my gun, but Rufus laid his hand on the barrel before I could get it out the window. He shook his head and I lowered the rifle. I looked at him questioningly and he motioned for me to lean in. We leaned together and he said, “That’s Big Frank,” he said

simply, as if that explained everything. I still looked at him confused. He sighed and continued.

“I’ve been sittin’ in this stand for five years, and I’ve seen him ev’ry time. Sometimes in the mornin’, sometimes in the evenin’. The shittin’ thing ain’t scared of nothin’.”

“Why haven’t you shot him?” I asked. “He’s a good buck.”

“One of the best I’ve ever seen,” he agreed.

“So why haven’t you taken him down?”

“And ruin it?” he asked. “Look at him. His strength. His antlers. He’s shittin’ magnificent.”

I agreed. These were all reasons to shoot him.

“So, why don’t you shoot him?”

He smiled and looked away from me and back out towards Big Frank. “Because he’s shittin’ beautiful.” He turned back to me. “I’m here to see nature at its finest, not to actually hunt. But don’t tell your father or Joey. It’d ruin my reputation.” He turned back to look at Big Frank again.

“Your reputation of having terrible luck when it comes to seeing deer and being too stubborn to let Joey take you somewhere else?” I asked. “Seems like a pretty stupid reputation to hold onto.”

“If I don’t come to this shittin’ stand,” he explained, “then someone else might. Someone who would shoot Big Frank.”

“Someone like me?” I asked.

“Exactly,” he said. “And I can’t have that.”

I turned to observe Big Frank too. He was so close now it was unreal. I could see the ripple of his muscles as he walked, hear the twigs and leaves and grass crunch under his hooves.

Suddenly, his head snapped up and he looked directly at me. I’m not sure if he just sensed my gaze or caught my scent, but he eyed me warily. I don’t think he could actually see me, but he knew something was here. He looked at me for a few more seconds before lowering his head.

Rufus and I sat in silence, just watching the four white-tails outside our stand. It was peaceful. It was so beautiful that I didn’t even mind that I’d have to suffer through my cousins later today. For now, I was just enjoying nature.

The deer finally made their way across the whole field and entered the opposite treeline from which they had emerged. Not even 30 minutes later, Joey pulled back into the pasture.

Rufus and I made our way down the ladder with our rifles and climbed back into the big truck.

“See anything today?” Joey asked. He and Rufus looked back at me.

“Nope,” I said. “Not a shittin’ thing.”

“Ah, better luck next time,” Joey said, shifting the truck into drive.

“And better watch your language, boy,” Rufus said to me, winking.